


boots 'n luck

by ladydawn



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen, Origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydawn/pseuds/ladydawn
Summary: He wasn't always Commander Meouch.





	1. 85

His parents, though they had birthed him, were the stuffiest and most boring people he’d ever met. He was sure that when he was born and looked into their eyes he’d groaned. They called him some boring family name, and when he was seven, they’d passed away. A craft accident. Some signals got scrambled. Of course, he was sad, but probably not as sad as he should have been, and adapted nicely to living on the street and stealing what he could to get by. He used his baby face to get his way.

Around twelve, when the baby face began to fade, when he had a near full mane and his teeth were adult, pointy and dangerous, he met a woman who called herself Polda. And of course it had to rain. Of course it had to be when he’d just been beat up and left bleeding in an alley.

“Whoever it was,” Polda said after walking up after hearing a whimper, “they got you good.”

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the ruby red of his blood being washed away by the rain, glowing even more red in the neon of the corner store, then her shiny black boots. He looked up further and saw her hand extended out towards him.

He grabbed it, and she hoisted him up like nothing. He was tall, but she was taller, even without the boots and he could tell. She wore a lot of black and had a tough, scarred face and a gun in her holster.

He bent slightly at a pang of pain in his side. “Hey, lady,” he began, “I appreciate it, but you can leave now.”

Polda picked at his mane and he tried to move but couldn’t. It hurt too much.

“I can’t just leave a cub alone,” she said frankly. "I don’t mean that in a creepy way.”

She hadn’t come across as creepy to him. Just helpful. A bit dangerous, maybe, but helpful all the same.

“Do you have anywhere you could go to?” she asked, dusting off his good shoulder.

He shook his head the best he could, unexpectedly emotional at the care this stranger showed him. He couldn’t trust his voice. Not yet.

“My name is Polda. What’d they call you?”

“Asshole, most of the time.”

Polda laughed; a soft, motherly sound.

He told her his real name.

“Boring,” she said, inspecting her nails.

“I know,” he replied, in pain everywhere.

“You have nowhere to go and lemme guess.” She took a look at him and he felt very, very small under her stare. “You’ve been alone for a while.”

His eyes widened.

“Do you want to come with me? I have a place you can stay.”

He nodded, and against whatever better judgement he had, he climbed into her craft, and they made their way to wherever Polda lived.

“I have this lodge-type thing,” she said. “A lot of people live there. We... clean up the streets, so to speak.” She glanced sidelong at the lionboy to see if he got it.

He got it.

It didn’t take long, and the structure that was the lodge was one of the more dilapidated apartment complexes on the edge of downtown.

“I’m gonna call you... Meouch,” she said. “Better ring to it.”

He liked it.

He liked it a lot.

The inside of the complex was nicer than the outside. Clean, silver, with a lot of hallways. A communal kitchen and gym, but the rooms were rooms.

Polda set him up first in the sterile medical bay, where everything was reflective and floating. He sat himself on the hovering bench as the machine diagnosed and treated him. (Turns out he had two bruised ribs and one broken on the other side, which explained the fact that he could hardly breathe.)

Polda entered again with a bag. “A dude stole these but y’know what? I think they’d about fit you,” she said, placed the bag at the end of the bed, and left again.

Meouch, now, and he quite liked that name, hopped off the bench and set his bare paws on the floor. He took the bag and opened it to find a black shirt - not a shirt, a full on jumpsuit, heavy and well-made - oh, there’s the undershirt, and some underpants, and at the bottom of the bag were tall and he could tell already that they were too big, boots.

He didn’t care and pulled everything on quickly, switching out his old clothes in the bag.

He looked in the metal siding of one machine and found he looked ridiculous. The jumpsuit hung baggy on him everywhere, the boots were definitely a size or two too big, and his mane stuck wild in all directions and kept getting in his face (but it did that all the time), but he was clean for the first time in a long time. He had a roof over his head. Someone had actually come to check on him after he’d been battered and left.

He looked at his old clothes in the bag. He grabbed his old blue shirt and ripped the hem. He tore it with his teeth. He moved some hair out of the way and put the long strip across his forehead, tying it in the back.

“Now _that_ looks like a Meouch!” Polda said from the doorway.

He jumped.

“Sorry, kid. You must be hungry. Let’s get some food in ya.”

Meouch nodded and followed Polda to the kitchen. He walked a bit awkwardly, on account of the boots.

The kitchen was objectively underwhelming.

Polda heated him some day-old leftovers and it was the best thing he’d ever eaten.

“How did your parents die?” Polda asked as she thumbed through a funky triangular device in her hand.

Meouch very nearly choked.

“Too soon to ask?”

“Maybe,” he said, sipping his drink.

She shrugged. “Figured,” she said. “And I knew they were dead because we’re not a species to leave our kin behind. It was just a matter of how.”

Meouch finished three bowls of whatever she gave him. She just let him eat.

“Want to see your room?” she asked when he was done gorging himself.

“I get a room?”

Polda looked up at him a little sadly. “Yeah,” she said softly, “you do.”

They padded quietly down the hallways. Room 85 was his. He opened the door to a white room with a bed, dresser, desk, bookshelf, and nightstand. “You have a washroom here,” Polda said, waving her hand to the left.

Meouch turned around, willing away the tears that had started to well in his eyes. “I don’t know how to say thank you,” he said, utterly sincerely, and sincere at the fact that he had no money at all.

Polda shrugged. “You can work for me, I suppose,” she said. “Apprentice and whatnot.”

“What do you do?”

“You haven’t heard?” she said, adjusting her belt. “I’m a smuggler.”


	2. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch is painfully young and painfully, painfully new.

For the first time in forever, he woke in the morning feeling well rested. He had a roof over his head! Guaranteed breakfast! He had a bathroom! And for the first time in forever, he felt genuinely good about everything.

Apart from the smuggling part, whatever that meant. He shook at the thought, and found that this would be a time of firsts for him, as he hadn’t been made to be afraid in a long while.

He pushed the covers off and groaned at the dull pain in his side, where the rib had been broken. The medicine could only do so much.

He got up and opened the dresser drawers. The first two were filled with a few sets of different clothes. A note sat on top.

Polda’s script was rough and messy; it took Meouch a good minute to decipher it.

_Meouch, Found some more illegal clothes for you! Hope you like ‘em ☺ \- Polda_

The writing definitely matched her. Rough, fast, messy, but with a smiley face.

He smiled at the note and set it aside. After a quick shower, he changed into another set of clothes, pretty much identical to the jumpsuit yesterday, only this one fit better.

He exited the room and shut the door behind him.

There were people _everywhere_.

No one really paid him any mind, which he appreciated; he overheard mostly, people talking about a recent mission or something their kid did, and some did say “You’re new!” and Meouch said “I know!” and they’d introduce themselves.

Meouch found Polda in what looked like a lounge. The area was surrounded by books on shelves and a couple coffee machines on either side. Polda sat at a window seat, nursing a cup and flipping through a newspaper (screen, rather, as it popped up on her triangular device).

“Hey Polda,” Meouch said, sitting beside her.

“Hello, Meouch,” she said, dragging out the hello.

He sat a bit awkwardly while she still thumbed through the paper. He found that the stool spun, so he spent a lot of time just wiggling from side to side.

When Polda was finished, she turned to him, continuing to sip her coffee. “So,” she said, and Meouch could see her better in the late morning’s light, the scar that burst like a starbeam under her right eye, “I figured I’d try to let you get acquainted with everything here, but it turns out we got another opportunity. We’re gonna do that. Think you’re ready?”

He twiddled his toes in his too-big boots.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”

After a quick breakfast, he’d formulated a lot of questions. What was it like, how’d she get the scar, where are they going, what are they doing, is it dangerous, am I gonna die, but most of all:

“What do you smuggle?”

They were in her craft, flying to the site. Polda hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it, then hesitated again.

“Funk,” she finally said.

“Whats _funk_?”

The ways were clear, so she looked at him face to face in disbelief. “ _What’s funk?_ It’s our shit, is what it is, it’s our planet’s chief export! It’s… slow and fast and loud and quiet” - she turned her head back to the skies - “and everything in between. According to the president, our main export’s grains, but that’s boring.” She paused. “You’ve never felt funk?”

“No. And what do you do with it, anyway?”

“Some parts of the city are still square,” Polda muttered, hanging a left. “You listen to it – I take it to planets that need it most. Those really boring – but not too boring – worlds.”

“What happens if they’re ‘too boring’?” Meouch asked.

“It just rocks their fuckin’ world too much. Death and chaos and… destruction, in general.”

“Have you done that before?”

Meouch didn’t have a chance to register a facial change before Polda said, “We’re here.”

They pulled into an unassuming row of warehouses, grey and dark blue.

“These don’t look very funky to me.”

“You get some food and medical attention and suddenly you don’t shut up,” Polda said without malice. “This is serious business though, Meouch. Please try to not ask questions when we get in there.”

Meouch understood now that these weren’t meant to _look_ funky. What mattered was whatever was on the inside.

Polda expertly navigated the ship into the open hangar of one warehouse, numbered 18.

A lone figure, tall and lanky with a full long mane, stood near a table with a switchboard of steady blinking lights. They turned, and Meouch saw the twin scars that tore down either cheek under their eyes like tears.

“I know, Malek’s a bit -”

“Wicked awesome?” Meouch finished as they slowed to a stop.

“Sure.” Polda opened the top of the craft and exited. She jumped easily from the cockpit to the ground.

Meouch took a minute longer.

“Hey, Malek!” Polda greeted as Meouch fumbled with his seatbelts. “I heard you got somethin’ good.”

“Not just good, P, _great_ , and I” - Meouch managed to swing himself over the edge of the cockpit and out onto the hard ground, landing on his feet with a yelp - “Who’s this kid?”

Meouch saluted, intimidated suddenly from seeing Malek up close. The scars were scarier, something that could happen to him; up close, the tearful scars became horrifyingly real. “Meouch, Malek! It’s good to meet you!” he said.

“Meouch, huh?” Malek said, and took a swig from an opaque container. “Stop saluting, man, makes me nervous.”

Meouch dropped his arm.

Malek eyed him, not without suspicion.

Polda laid a hand on Meouch’s shoulder, and he could literally feel the tension dissipate.

Malek walked away from his switchboard, to the large metal crates that they had passed to get in. “Anyway, I got this from Wena. They said it’s some of their most potent stuff yet. The type that _endures_ ,” Malek said. He slapped one of the containers. It didn’t ring out.

“Alright, man, you don’t gotta sell it to me.” Polda smiled and Malek laughed, four straight ha-ha-ha-has. “Where’s it going?”

Malek holstered the opaque container and began to write a sequence of numbers on his triangular device. “A planet in the MW-121 system called Earth. Orbits a G2V star they call the Sun,” he said.

Polda said nothing and neither did Meouch. He felt so… lost, like a kid listening to adults talking, and that’s exactly what he was, he had to remind himself. He kept thinking about how he wanted Malek’s cool fingerless gloves.

“They can handle it?” Polda asked.

Malek shrugged. “They’re gonna get there, anyway. One of these days. They’re a bit primitive but a lot of them will be able to take it,” he said. “Some won’t want it, but they won’t die over it.”

Polda nodded. Apparently that was the only convincing she needed, since not a minute later Meouch was helping them stow away the funk in the various compartments all over Polda’s ship.

“We’ll discuss payment after,” she said in a hushed tone.

“I haven’t disappointed you yet, have I?” Malek asked rhetorically, clasping the last compartment shut.

“Jury’s still out,” she shot back.

Malek smiled at her and nodded with a blank face toward Meouch. “Yo, kid, you seem okay. Just don’t be so nervous,” they said, and hopped down and away from the ship.

Polda shut the back hatch.

Meouch couldn’t stop the smile that broke wide across his features. “Malek thinks I’m cool!” he exclaimed and ran to his seat.

“They said you seem okay,” Polda said.

“Malek thinks I might be okay!”

It was Polda’s turn to smile.

She input the coordinates into the ship’s dock. “Okay,” she said. “Earth it is.”

The ship backed out, then hummed across the sky. Meouch was off of his home planet for the first time, and definitely not the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> malek's my fav.  
> thanks.


	3. 1923

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Meouch's first smuggling trip.

The stars were… something.

They looked so small from far away, but every time they passed one, it took so long, and they were actually so far apart.

And they were all different colours! Who knew they could all be different colours and sizes? Some were hotter than others, too!

“Enjoying yourself?” Polda asked. She’d seen him rubbernecking for the past while.

“Yeah,” Meouch said a bit dreamily.

Polda couldn’t resist a small, fond smile that disappeared as soon as it came because Meouch looked at her.

“Hey, how much longer?” he asked.

Polda looked at the various screens and gauges, which Meouch was sure he’d learn about in due time, and said, “A couple hours, give or take.”

Meouch nodded. He was silent for not a few seconds before -

“How do you fly this thing?”

\- and Polda looked at the yoke in her hands.

“Carefully,” she said.

Meouch just stared at her.

“Okay, so it’s mostly trust. You get in your head about flying then you’re just gonna crash. Trust the air, the atmosphere, your proximity to the stars, and you’ll be fine,” she said.

“That doesn’t super answer my question.”

Polda sighed. “There’s openings along the rim of the panels that jut out outside. The openings on top decrease the pressure, atmospheric or otherwise, and redistribute it to the ones underneath when you press these,” she said, and squeezed the buttons on the back side of the yoke. Meouch felt a jolt as the ship “raised” in the vastness of space. “Less pressure on top means liftoff. Pull towards you to ascend. Push forward to descend. Up, up and away.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Meouch sat back in his seat. It was simple science, he thought, but he’d never been good at his studies. The fact that he’d basically stopped after his parents died helped to hinder him, too.

Maybe he’d be good at smuggling. The implications scared him.

“Do you have any food?” he asked.

“Look around. Remember to not open the compartments, though.”

Meouch nodded and undid his seatbelt. He carefully stepped through the cockpit door into the rest of the ship. To his left, another gravity gauge stuck mounted to the wall. Various photos stuck to the walls of the ship. Polda with people Meouch didn’t know, though he recognized Malek sans scars and a bit of a younger Polda in one photo.

He continued to the galley. He found some odd, finely milled powder in one cabinet. He scooped it into his maw and immediately coughed. The aftertaste was pleasant, actually, and he mixed it with a clear liquid to produce a thicker drink. He stuck it in a cup with a straw and sipped as he walked through the rest of the modest ship.

Polda hadn’t given him much of a tour, though truthfully there wasn’t too much more to see.

Polda had sleeping quarters with one bed near the back, really just a cot. Near the cot, a piece of the wall slid to reveal a wall of books. Then he turned and was back at the galley, as the rest of the ship were the smuggling compartments.

He returned to the front with his drink and watched as they passed another star, careful not to stare for too long.

“Do we have a hyperdrive?” Meouch asked.

“Yeah,” Polda replied.

“You gonna… use it?”

“Maybe. Give it another few minutes.”

“Why?”

“I only got a couple charges left. They can only go so far, y’know, kiddo. And we need the other to bolt outta Earth right away after releasing this stuff, so don’t ask why we don’t just use both.”

“Who does the funk go to?”

Polda pressed her lips together. “It’ll travel to whoever it wants,” she said.

“It’s sentient?”

“I guess? To some extent,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure on the science, to be honest, Meouch. Enough questions.”

“Why?”

Meouch was being a little shit and Polda could tell. She still rolled her eyes. “We’re going into hyperdrive!” she said, relishing the words.

“When -”

Polda pressed a button and pulled back a lever, and Meouch pressed back into his seat. It felt like his organs had shifted backward. He couldn’t breathe, and Polda sat laughing beside him.

They slowed as they came close to what had to be Earth. Meouch breathed in heavily and took a good look at the blue, green, and white planet. “’S pretty,” he managed to breathe out.

“Yeah,” Polda agreed.

They entered the gravitational pull and began their descent into a big green part of the planet. Meouch got a good look at their pockmarked moon before they flew through clouds. Polda switched on what had to be a cloaking device.

They observed the screen between the seats, and they saw people dressed in flowy, colourful fabrics with beading hanging off, and big head adornments, and two piece clothing sets. Polda tapped a few settings and they saw through a building a band was playing a bunch of instruments.

They landed in a field on the outskirts of this place Meouch overheard someone call NOLA. Polda unbuckled her seatbelts and Meouch did too, and followed her to the back compartments.

She hovered her hand over a button.

“You ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he talks too much.  
> thanks.


	4. 4892

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always going to be this easy.

Meouch realized it didn’t matter if he told Polda he was ready. Whether he was or not, he nodded anyway, and Polda pressed the button. The compartments and the back hatch opened. It felt like the funk pulled away and pushed against him at the same time.

It felt _good_.

It didn’t quite feel like an energy, a particle, a wave; funk was enigmatic and trying to study it would probably only bring frustration. Maybe it wasn’t ever meant to be studied, Meouch thought. Maybe it was an emotion. 

And now he understood what exactly Polda meant about feeling funk.

Oh, Polda was yelling. What’s she saying? Meouch had to frame his face with his hands.

“-GOING!” He caught the tail end of whatever she said. She moved, but Meouch stood still in the doorframe, stunned, watching the last of the funk swirl and shoot out. As soon as it vacated, the back hatch and compartments closed again. It felt too quiet.

Polda moved him toward the cockpit.

“That was awesome!” Meouch exclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Polda said with a bit of a laugh. “Get in your belts.”

He clicked himself in. He noticed he’d been much quicker than the past couple times.

He watched as Polda pulled on the yoke and squeezed the buttons, and they were airborne once more.

Hyperdrive, unfortunately, was not any easier the second time around.

Meouch waited a beat as the hyperdrive pressure lightened. “Why did no one stop us?” he asked.

“I’ll admit,” Polda said, “this went much slower and easier than expected. But it’s not gonna be like this always, Meouch. People will die.”

He thought she’d turn to him then with a joking smile, but she just kept her face forward. As they passed another star, Meouch said, “I’m gonna go nap,” to which Polda replied, “Aight.”

He didn’t dream.

“Hey, kid.” Polda’s voice was far away as she shook him awake.

“When -” he mumbled, flinging his arm over his face.

Polda shook him harder. “Kid,” she said firmly.

“What?” he asked in a half awake stupor. “What day is it?”

“White Moon, height of heat. But we’re back at the lodge,” she said.

Meouch got up and wiped his mouth. Polda said “gross” and they made their way through the small hangar, to the hall, to the lodge.

Polda said stuff to him that didn’t stick. He kept walking in a daze, too asleep for anything to be understood. He heard a couple times, and he made sure to remember those. Something about tomorrow at 2641.

Polda left him at the branch of the library, said she had to get reading done. He yawned and gave her one finger gun, and continued walking to his room. He got a glimpse of a clock at 4892.

When he got to his room, he promptly passed out in his boots.

* * *

This time, in his bed, he dreamt.

A world like diamond. Prisms in the starlight, refracting every colour he knew and a lot he didn’t.

He swam.

The city was underwater, everything about this world was underwater – he levitated – and he felt himself fill, he breathed it in and he accepted it. Nothing happened.

He looked up and saw two moons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a filler, i've been busy.  
> ok a lot of a filler.  
> thanks.


	5. you ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch learns to fly.

“I hate waking you up like this,” Polda said, shaking Meouch awake.

He grumbled and flung his arm out wildly, trying to stop the thing that threatened his sleep. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ try to hit me, bud,” Polda said, swatting his arm away.

Meouch made a noise akin to a _mffhmm_ into his pillow.

“Get up,” Polda said.

“Mmm... no.”

“Wake up.”

“No,” Meouch said, lucid, losing the dream he was trying to finish, “why?”

“You’re driving for me and Malek today.”

Meouch popped his head off the pillow. “Really?” he asked, grinning – all teeth.

“Yes,” she said. “Later. After breakfast and lessons.”

He sat up fully. “Lessons?”

Polda blushed, just a slight flush at the height of her cheeks. “I figured you didn’t have a lot of schooling, and I know it’s no fun, but I’ve been setting up this little school thing in the library for you,” she said. “For other kids, too.”

“That’s really cool of you.”

Polda looked down and cleared her throat. “Cool,” she said. “I’m gonna leave so you can do whatever. Just eat then meet me in the library.”

He looked at the time. Did Polda even sleep? he thought.

Meouch nodded and she left. He showered, changed, ate, and met her in the library.

“Hey kid,” she said without looking up from her triangular device. She leaned against a shorter table, all tanned and dyed clothes and ass-kicking boots.

She is so fuckin’ cool, Meouch thought.

“Hey Polda,” he said, and she showed him the ins and outs of the electronic schooling system, and he surprisingly found himself having fun. It made it more interesting than the few years of schooling he’d had, and he felt engaged – even though he still sucked at numbers and remembering the past.

He pressed the ‘enter’ key when he finished. He turned and saw Polda sitting at her spot near the window.

“You did very well, Meouch,”’ she said offhandedly, staring intently at her device. “Remember you can always improve, but you did very well.”

“Thanks,” he replied quietly.

She looked up. “Should we go fly, cub?”

* * *

Malek’s ship took up much more of their hangar than Polda’s ever did. It also contained way, way more buttons than Polda’s. Meouch found that Polda had the very bare bones of what a smuggler needed; Malek had a lot of extraneous blinkers, beeps, sweeps, and creeps that confused the hell outta Meouch.

“Turn on the cloaking device,” Malek said from Meouch’s left side.

Meouch looked down at the buttons with oscillating lights. “Uh,” he breathed, scanning the dash quick. “Which one’s that?”

Malek pointed to a button next to the fuel gauge. “Ah,” Meouch muttered and pressed it.

“Remember what I said,” Polda piped up from his right. “Squeeze easily, pull for up, push for down. Applies for anything, really.”

“These buttons here,” Malek leaned over, pointing to a set of buttons on either handle of the yoke, “make you go forward and back.”

Meouch nodded.

He felt approximately ten percent of the information given to him had set in.

“Now go,” Malek urged.

Meouch squeezed, and the ship rose. The hangar gates opened. He pressed the buttons Malek pointed to and started to ease out.

The easing wasn’t easing, more of a sudden lurch that made Polda and Malek grab for the arms on their seats.

“Quit bein’ dramatic,” Meouch muttered, and he swore Polda snorted.

He felt good flying. Malek had set up a whole obstacle course on their land, and it moved and changed all the time. Soon, it became facile to look at all the gauges and ticking instruments. He figured with a few more sessions, he’d be ready to fly for an actual smuggling job.

“Now, bring it in,” Malek said.

Meouch nimbly pressed the button to reopen the hangar and slowed the craft, parking it where it had been before. He leaned back in his seat once it stopped, shut off the ship, and looked over at Malek proudly.

Malek nodded and patted Meouch on the shoulder. They then left the craft.

“Don’t worry, cub,” Polda said. “For them, that’s like giving you a damn medal.”

Meouch nodded and patted Polda on the shoulder. The pair exited the craft.

Malek stood at their table, writing. They didn’t look up when Meouch and Polda approached. “Okay,” they said, finally acknowledging the other two, “let’s load it up, then.”

“What?” Polda and Meouch said at the same time with differing tones.

“You told the cub he’d be flying, yeah?”

“Well, yes...” Polda said.

“Let’s fly!” Malek clapped their big paws and walked to a cargo load. “It ain’t gonna deliver itself!”

Polda hurried over to Malek and they spoke in hushed tones. Meouch hung back, worried out of his mind. Probably talking about me not being ready, he thought. And they’re right, he thought.

“Meouch!” Polda said.

He tuned back in. “Yeah?”

“You ready?”

“I guess,” Meouch said with a shrug, “but whenever someone asks me that we go ahead anyway no matter the answer.”

Malek nodded. “Yeah, you’re learning,” they said. “Let’s load it up, then. We would’ve been gone already, if Polda weren’t so damn worried.”

Polda hit them on the shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more of a filler but he learns!  
> thanks.


	6. IC 1396

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meouch's first flying gig doesn't end so well.

Malek said they’d be going to the Cepheus system – wherever that was. Meouch stuttered a few times at security checkpoints, both when trying to slow the ship in the space and while speaking to the guards. Luckily, it seemed a lot of people where learning how to drive, so the guards never game them too hard of a time (although, for some reason, Malek had to stay hidden away in the back).

Malek’s ship had the capacity for countless hyperdrive charges, so they told Meouch he could use it anytime. Polda wouldn’t allow it.

“You can’t navigate through hyper,” she said when he asked.

“Why not?” he asked, irritated, but keeping his eyes on the stars.

“It’ll be too tough on your system and you’d probably get us all killed,” she said frankly.

Malek emerged from the back, and leaned easily against the frame. “Let the boy use it,” they said. “He’s good luck.”

“How d’ya figure?” Polda asked.

“We’ve had nothing but good, easy runs since he showed up,” Malek said. _Since she found me bleeding in the street_ , Meouch said internally. “Plus, we’re nearing the planet.”

Meouch whipped to his right to look at Polda head on. He didn’t even have to say anything before Polda said, “Oh, _gods_ , okay!”

They all strapped in.

“When you’re going into hyper you’ve gotta hit this button” - Polda indicated a bright yellow button - “and flip this switch” - she pointed to a switch above Meouch’s head - “then, the next time you push hard on the accelerate buttons, we’ll go hyper. Got it?”

It’s four buttons, Meouch thought.

“It’s four buttons,” Malek said. “I think the cubby’s got it.”

Meouch nodded. He pressed the yellow button, flipped the switch, and accelerated hard.

Stars became little streaks that painted behind his eyelids every time he struggled to blink. The pressure outside the ship felt like it was inside, and Meouch could feel it press in all around him. It felt, somehow, even worse than Polda’s hyperdrive – he didn’t know if he could attribute it to Malek’s ship being bigger or the hyperdrive itself.

Meouch saw the planet, shades of red, and then flames engulfed the front of the ship. They were gone as soon as they came, interacting with the craft for a split second then swallowed by the vacuum of space. As if the shock weren’t enough, the hyperdrive shut off, and they all flung forward in their seats.

“Son of a bitch!” Malek yelled, and reached around Meouch, pressing buttons and flipping switches.

Whatever the projectile that hit them was, the damage still crawled forward on the hull, like some creeping death. Malek swore beside him while Polda tried to apply logic to the impending problem. She disappeared to the back, the door whooshing open then closed.

Meouch stayed the course.

His paws got really, really hot.

What do I do what do I do what do I do, he chanted in his head.

“GET IT TO THE GANTRY!” Polda yelled, appearing suddenly.

Was I talking out loud?

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ IS A GANTRY?” Meouch yelled back. Oh, he was yelling.

“LANGUAGE!” Malek and Polda yelled in unison.

“IT’S A LANGUAGE?” He pulled up towards him, fighting against the pressure at the bow of the ship.

“FOR FUCK SAKE, MEOUCH, THE GANTRY IS GONNA FIX THE SHIP NOW GET IT TO THE WEIRD SPIKY THING!”

Meouch saw the weird spiky thing Polda spoke (yelled) of.

He landed, however his landing wouldn’t have been categorized as a landing but a decently controlled crash.

They looked up and around after screeching to a halt and the species of the planet looked at them, jaw structures hanging wide open. Meouch waved. A couple waved back with whatever their appendages were.

“We get them to fix the ship, release the funk, then we’re out,” Malek whispered conspiratorially to Polda, who nodded.

The gantry regulated the intense pressure of the planet. Malek got out without protection and spoke with one of the creatures. Meouch followed Polda out and he watched the hull of Malek’s craft slowly erode.

The technicians got to work.

“It’s some sort of missile,” Malek said to the pair. “I don’t know who or what did it, but it happened.”

“Do you think it was planetary protection or someone wanting us dead?” Polda asked plainly and Meouch’s heart skipped a beat.

“Both, maybe.”

Meouch gazed nervously at the ship. So much for being a good luck charm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gantry, meouch.  
> thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> there was this one tumblr post about putting twrp's names into a generator i can't find it rn but thanks for the insp.  
> his boots are too big for his gotdam feet.  
> thanks.


End file.
